


The Letter

by HiddenTohru



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenTohru/pseuds/HiddenTohru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for game ending. Joran writes a letter to Zevran to let him know how the Blight will be defeated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in February 2010.

Joran took another deep breath and steadied the pen in his hand. He'd been thinking about this for hours, and he knew that if he didn't start writing soon, he would never be able to begin. Steeling his nerves, he set pen to paper and began, remembering as he went the voice of his father, instructing him in the basics of reading and writing. _"Don't move the pen as if you're trying to injure the paper, Jor. Let it move in harmony with the flow of the parchment, allow the words to flow through your hand, the pen and onto the paper as if it were water. It'll be easier to read that way."_

He began.

  
My beloved Zevran,

If you are reading this letter, then my plans have succeeded, and I am no more.

I'm so sorry I couldn't tell you before, but I know the lengths you would have gone to to stop me, if you knew, and this had to be. Ferelden needs _both_ its rulers, and only a Grey Warden's sacrifice can slay an Archdemon.

I've told you so many times over the course of our journey, but I think that sealing it in ink is important. I love you. Growing up in the Alienage, I never dreamed of the kind of love you've given me. I told you, once, that our marriages are arranged. Love happens rarely, and almost never with one's spouse. I accepted that, or thought I did, determined that I would be happy without love, try to live my life for my family, until I joined the Wardens. I cursed my life then, thinking I had lost everything, feeling bitter and helpless, until I met you. You probably didn't notice how I changed after I met you, as I hid my feelings behind that vapid, meaningless "servant smile" my aunt had taught me, but you were like the first ray of sunshine breaking through a bank of clouds. Every time I was around you, I felt warm inside, even content. You made me look around and take note of what was really happening, what I hadn't been willing to admit to myself. You gave me the courage to face the task I'd been skirting like the coward I was. I think I knew, even then, that it would kill me, sooner than not. Part of me wanted to surrender to melancholy then, but there was always you.

Now might not be the time you want to read silly compliments, but you were a constant revelation. The curve of your smile, your smell of clean sweat and well oiled leather, the way you loved poking fun at everything and everyone we came across, even the façade you put up to make light of our relationship. You got under my skin with so little effort, and I told myself I could settle for companionship, a lie to sate the hunger I felt for you. I told myself that I didn't love you, that you were going to betray me, that it didn't matter if you did. But when I started seeing cracks in your practiced attitude toward me, tiny glimpses of your true feelings, hope leapt inside me. The times you held me close when you thought I was fast asleep, the confused glances when you thought I wasn't looking, the little excuses you made to be near me, each was sweeter to me than any physical embrace.

When you offered me that jeweled earring, I knew. You could never bring yourself to say the words, but by the end every glance, every touch spoke it loud and clear. You wanted me to think it meant nothing, that it was just another pretty bauble that meant little to you, but you'd held onto it for so long that I knew you were giving me a piece of yourself. Your past, a symbolic part of you. I only wish I had something similar to give you, because I want you to have a part of me as well, but this letter will have to suffice.

I've thought long and hard about this, my love. Alistair must be King, and the Archdemon must be destroyed, and I fear Riordan is not up to the task. If we had only met in another space or time... But no, I will not indulge such futile thoughts. Perhaps in another existence we met under different circumstances, but we are here and now, and things are as they are.

There are so many things I want to say to you. I've drafted this letter a thousand times inside my head, but I can't find a way to include everything. I wish I could capture every moment I cherished, tell you everything I never had a chance to, share every part of me that you didn't get to see in the months we've spent together. Before I thought I'd told you everything, but there is still so much. My most secret dreams from childhood, my first fight, the shape of my mother's face, and so much more. I wanted to know even more about you, all the things you tried to protect me from, thinking I was too innocent to know. When you slept I traced every scar on your body, even as I know you did to me, and I wish I could hear the story behind each and every one, and tell you mine.

Enough. My tears threaten to overflow and splotch the ink, so I must finish before that happens. Even though my life will end tomorrow, I feel like I've only truly lived the time I've spent with you. Since the moment you woke up on that battlefield and looked up at me, I felt like something inside me was awakened, something that never stirred before.

I love you, Zevran. I am sorry, and I love you.

Joran Tabris, Grey Warden

  
He dropped the pen on purpose, the tears making him shake so badly he feared the ink would splatter and ruin the whole hour's work. He had said everything, and nothing, and there was nothing more to do but scatter the sand and seal the letter with the heavy marble seal Arl Eamon had lent him. He had sworn the older man to secrecy, and gotten a solemn promise to honor his wishes concerning when and to whom it would be delivered. He wished Wynne or perhaps Leliana could do it, but he did not trust them to maintain their discretion and keep it until after the battle. There. It was done, and he would hand it to the Arl the next morning, before they began their forced march, and then... Then it would all end.

\-------------------------------------

Zevran felt weak. It had been only two days since the battle, and the city was still in ruins, the citizens in an uproar, but he seemed unable to focus on anything. He would stare for half an hour at the broken rubble and only see one thing. His body. Joran's body, as it fell. His body lying on the funeral bier, cold and still. Everywhere he looked, he saw it.

He felt a tap on his shoulder, remembering that he had come at the summons of the newly crowned rulers of Ferelden and their Chancellor, the former Arl of Redcliffe. He turned, slowly, a part of his mind commenting coldly that if any Crow were to try to kill him now, they would undoubtedly succeed.

Eamon flinched at the look on the younger man's face. "I believe we're going to the same place. May I walk with you?"

Zevran shrugged, his momentary return to the present already ended, and the Chancellor watched with obvious concern as he walked without seeming to know where he was going. A few times he would almost turn the wrong way before correcting himself, but somehow they managed to end up in the room that Alistair and Anora had begun using as a sort of private common area, a place where only they and their trusted advisors (and the servants, of course) were permitted to go.

Anora stood and reached out her hands to the young man as they walked through the door. She and Zevran had bonded in their brief acquaintance, both knowing the searing pain of recent loss at almost the same time. He looked into her face and shook his head, and she retreated again, her uncharacteristic kindness once again giving way to the shrewd, calculating look she usually wore.

Zevran became aware then, that the King and Queen weren't alone. Wynne and Leliana stood by the fire, looking as though they'd been recently talking, but had stopped when he walked in. Shale was standing in the corner, looking inscrutable as always, and Oghren was snoring softly in the chair furthest away from the door. He turned to look at Eamon as the older man softly closed the door, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Is there something going on I should know about? I understood from the summons I received that I was to come alone, and yet here are several of... you."

Eamon cleared his throat. He had never been comfortable in the presence of the former Crow, and his unease was very obvious now. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I have one last duty yet to perform before my conscience may rest. Zevran Arainai, this was entrusted to me by the Hero of Ferelden before his death. He made me swear that I would deliver it to you. In light of your recent loss, their Royal Majesties believed it would be best for you to receive it among friends."

Zevran took the piece of parchment held out to him with shaking hands. That was his writing. Joran. He ran his fingernail under the seal with a practiced hand, remembering how many times he'd had to open letters with lethal contents in his time as Crow. He forgot where he was, who was in the room with him, as his eyes devoured the words. He swayed, feeling weaker than a child, but he did not fall.

When he had finished, he turned to the new king, who was watching (as they all were) with concern and pity. "You knew." There was such venom there, such pain that it came from the tanned elf's mouth like a curse.

Alistair put his hands out in front of him, as if to ward off an attack. "I didn't! I mean, I knew about the need to sacrifice, and I guess I... I thought he might try, but it wasn't until he left me at the gates that I knew for sure. And there was no way to warn you. If he'd left you with me, I would've told you, honest. But he didn't." The new king looked miserable. "I would've happily changed places with him, if he'd let me, but he didn't give me the choice. I'm sorry."

Zevran shook his head, trying not to hear the words, but he knew. His Warden had become such a good liar, in the end, that even he had not suspected. He would not have told Alistair his plan, or any of them, for fear that they would blurt out the secret.

He fell to his knees, the tears coming stronger than he ever remembered, even as a small child, before he had learned how useless tears could be. A sound was rushing in his ears, and he realized he was howling, like an animal in pain. Arms were circling him, soft and yielding, and he clung to them, knowing that they were not the ones he wanted. His Warden, Joran, would never again embrace him, and he wept as he realized how much he had truly lost.


End file.
